Murray Masterclass puts Gills through the Mill
Updated: 18 minutes ago
Gillingham (A) - FA Cup Round 1 - 7th November 2026
“It is courage, courage, courage, that raises the blood of life to crimson splendour. Live bravely and present a brave front to adversity.” – HORACE
4am.
“I don’t mind if we don’t go if you don’t feel like it?”
“Do you?”
“No… do you?”
“Well, we said we would, so we probably ought to…”
5am.
“How long is that going to take?”
“Bloody hell!”
“Well… enjoy it, I suppose… sorry, it’s double before six.”
But what if you miss something? That small kernel of stubborn positivity of the football fan that often ends feeling more like stupidity. And the chance for a tiny footnote in the great journey of what is the greatest cup competition in the world. Year after year, we pan for those golden glimmers. Imperious Byron Harrison headers and car park hugs in Bristol. Pulsating nights at home against Brentford and Oxford. The ‘big day outs’ on the road with half the town in tow. Eyes as misty as the Barrow dawn today recall Wolves and Southampton, tilting at windmills. An underrated pumping of UEFA Cup winners Ipswich.
Golden glimmers, but they nestle amongst a larger pannier of mud and pebbles of disappointment. The second half at Chorley. Capitulating in Yorkshire at Shaw Lane. Home to a Runcorn team who have since folded, where, for the casual observer, it looked like we’d had a punt at the bookies on the opposition. Prideful near misses at Bolton, Barnsley and Wigan.
But not so many for today’s chapter. Still, conversation was eclectically cheery on an away bus driven by one of our own regulars through the pea-souper of the 590. Subjects covered: large women called Pam dominating a relationship; Chekhov; Simon Bishop; grandkids; betrayal of friends; self-pleasure on trains.
Norton Canes was like the way station of the Great Silk Road of the FA Cup. Brightly garbed Blackpool happily looking forward to Hornchurch while gnarled old West Ham hooligans squeezed into Fila retreads to discuss hip replacements and glory days on the way to Blackburn.
Soon enough, Rochester offered the customary alternative to the dubious charms of Gillingham, and as the sun peeked through the murk we settled in the beer garden. Subjects covered: Bishop Odo of Bayeux; Shaun Beeley; bisexuality; rail nationalisation; youth cricket; and greatest Barrow goals.
Finally, we wended our way along the Medway to Gillingham. I chuckled as I watched teenagers on their first FA Cup long away chuckling at the realisation that urban decay doesn’t stop at the M25. As we missed the turnoff for the away end, we perused Adam Murray’s latest puzzle he had set a side in the play-off positions of League Two. Did we have strikers? Was it a false nine? Craig Levein’s zero strikers away? Ali’s ‘rope-a-dope’ that flummoxed George Foreman in Kinshasa. Well, maybe not, but we had Cameron, Reid and Lane on the bench and no central strikers as such.
Of course, the beauty of this man v man set-up is that the opposition is as flummoxed as we are. But the players understand it. Individual bravery within a collective mentality and a cast-iron will to win. We limbered up and began to feel each other out. They looked experienced and classy at the back, dangerous when running from deep through the middle and untroubled by any roughhousing, having the quality to wander out of it.
We were taking the right path to test them. Oakley is in the richest vein of form and classily floated the ball for quicksilver Allen, who had their full-back on toast but couldn’t penetrate the centre with that killer ball, except one that whizzed dangerously across the Gills keeper’s field of vision.
Lose possession? Isaac Marriott on hand, a sultan of the second ball at what rugby coaches would call the breakdown.
At the back we relied on our PK-infused powers of recovery as play zipped from end to end. They were too good to make an obvious error, us too confusing and tough as teak for them to quite take advantage of our brave dice rolling in possession.
It was open, speculative, but lacking the final ball, and two in-form keepers managed matters sharply. All waved on by a ridiculously lax referee, none more so when Allen was held back as he burst through with no sanction. But they couldn’t work us out. At one stage we threatened to leave four up on the halfway line while defending a corner, to the befuddlement of our Kentish foes.
Half-time, and we’d edged it. Subjects covered: pukka pies; Accrington; and a wonderful story about a referee/historian meting out summary justice to an over-zealous, bullying steward at Marine in the nineties. Barrow memories being long, as they took pleasure in the half-time score from Valley Parade.
After a brief starting flurry, the tit-for-tat continued. However, it was Barrow who were beginning to look the cleverer, the quicker, the classier. Corey Edwards began to purr: a sleek saloon car pulling into the garage forecourt. Born with his head up, he controlled with a tackle there, a clever header, a sumptuous cross-field pass.
Into the sparkling treasure chest of a squad the sure hand of our manager went and pulled out the power and honesty of in-form Innes Cameron, with the pinpoint delivery and experience of Danny Amos.
Gillingham looked flustered, but Winterbottom was called upon with two quality saves, the first a gutsy grab followed by getting down low to deal with a low drive as one or two got a little leggy. But we were troubling them. Power, yes; commitment, yes; but clever angles and runs at pace too.
Time a-ticking, we made our next move and we had them. On came the jet-heeled Mikey Lane, the cleverness and drive of Dan Mooney and Keaton Ward’s tin-opener of a passing game. Make no mistake: the next ten minutes were some of the best football this correspondent has seen Barrow play, ever.
Gillingham reeled and rocked desperately as we probed, charged, slithered and smashed through them at will. Mikey Lane delivering a peach into the box that they scrambled clear.
The ball fell to, inevitably, a substitute, Danny Mooney, whose firm drive whizzed goalwards as Innes Cameron delivered a rapier-like cut across the keeper and in. I was nearly trampled in the rush down to celebrate as the team bounded, slid, charged and cavorted across to the 187 souls.
All that remained? A few minutes we utterly dominated, and it was over. The connection rock-solid as fans, families and players hugged each other and danced in the dank Kentish evening. Then back to the pick-up point, where fewer than thirty of us, aged between fifteen and sixty-five, bounced around singing amongst very classy Gills fans while we waited for the bus.
Much classier than ponytailed pretender Gareth Ainsworth, who, having received a tactical rag-dolling from Adam Murray, tried to suggest they were well on top in the first half. Pfft.
5pm:
‘Delighted for you all. Safe journey.’
‘YAAAS! SAFE JOURNEY BACK LADS, INTO ROUND TWO. BOSH!’
‘My lucky clothes go to another game.’
8pm:
Thoughts. No luck was involved. Our manager is somehow crafting a structure of bravery, creativity and mentality, rather than any system or creed. Anyone Barrow play at present can’t quite fathom out what’s happening, but happen to them it will. Endlessly shapeshifting but unable to be shifted. Players who are playing within a rigid structure of expectations with total freedom and belief in an unfathomable plan.
But amid this calculated contrast, if there is one common theme, it is bravery. Bravery in purpose and possession. Bravery in selection and style. Bravery in adversity and attrition.
Make no mistake, people, as I listen to epically drunk grown men attempt to shoehorn the words ‘Paul Kalambayi’ into Bonnie Tyler’s ‘I Need a Hero’, the last ten minutes of this were some of the best football I’ve ever seen a Barrow side play.
A glistening golden nugget in our continuing FA Cup story.
Just go. Next!
We've not finished 👇
Hello, Punx here. If you have your own thoughts on the game, why not get in touch with the Give 'em Beans! Soccerline. Use WhatsApp to record a Voice note or just send us a WhatsApp message. We'll play the best messages on the Pod for the panel to digest or you can hear me butcher your sentiment by reading them aloud.
VoiceNotes to 07442396050 or use the Beans box above
Oh, and whilst you're here, if you like what we do you can always kick a little scratch our way using the Buy us a Baguette button below. And a massive thank you to those who have already thrown us a tip. It really helps.
Comments